


Mundanity

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (semi) crack treated (semi) seriously, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage Proposal, inspired by a tumblr post, rating is for swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: Inspired by @themlet'sposton Tumblr: Jon has to deal with normal human interactions. Martin helps (sort of). Featuring high school reunions, knitted sweaters, and conversations on the bus ride home.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 133
Kudos: 1141





	Mundanity

The first time Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, truly realizes how far he has drifted from normal life is at his high school reunion. It was most definitely  _ not  _ his idea to attend, but he's here nevertheless, and hiding in a corner with a plastic cup full of punch that is clearly not as alcohol-free as it claimed to be.

He's just taken another half-hearted sip when he hears his name being called, in a tone that suggests he should recognize the speaker but a voice he couldn't pin a name to if his life depended on it. 

_ "Jon? _ Is that you? Oh my god it is! Jon! Hi Jon!"

He turns, warily. Bearing down on him with a bright smile and arms open for a hug is a small woman with violently curly hair. A vague recognition tingles in his mind - biology class? No. Math. - but he has no time to follow the thought before he is being swept into an enthusiastic reunion. He lets out a muffled protest, trying not to spill his drink, and she laughs, stepping back and giving him a once-over.

_ "Look _ at you! Still as sweater-vested as ever! How have you  _ been? _ Where are you working?"

Jon freezes for a second in the face of the daunting challenge of small talk. Most of the questions he fields regarding his line of work revolve around the same general topics, i.e.,  _ do you really think you can stop me, wait what are you doing, how dare you Archivist you'll pay for this someday. _ It's been a long time since someone's bothered to ask  _ where  _ he works.

"I'm, um. I've got an archiving job."

_ "Oh, _ that fits you so well! We all used to joke that you'd end up in a library! What's it like?" 

Her enthusiasm is overwhelming. Jon blinks rapidly, trying to remember how normal people talk about their jobs. "It's... good? We-"  _ blew up a building in Kent last week. I almost died. _ "-recently uncovered a couple boxes of files someone lost a few decades ago, we're trying to get them sorted properly."

"We?" Her eyes widen in glee. "You're part of a team? Jon 'leave me alone I'm working' Sims is part of a team?"

"Yep. So-" he checks her name tag quickly, desperate to change the topic "-Kelly, how have you been, Kelly? How's the husband, the boyfriend, they getting along okay?"

It takes him a minute to realize what he's said, and where the information came from. In that time her eyes widen with an entirely different emotion, and her face pales.

_ "How did you know about-" _

"Martin!" It's said with desperate cheer. Martin's halfway across the room, chatting to another group of people Jon doesn't recognize, but he looks up at the sound of his name. Jon gestures to him frantically, waving him over. "Kelly have you met Martin? This is Martin, my, uh," he grabs Martin by the arm, dragging him forward between himself and Kelly, "my husband, Martin this is Kelly she was in my-" class, year, anything, "-in school with me." He leans forward into Martin's ear, hissing furiously.  _ "Help me please god help you're the one that made me come to this stupid reunion-" _

He stands back, pasting on a smile. Kelly is still giving him an odd look. Martin takes a moment to process the situation, blinking in shock, then intervenes with a smooth smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Kelly. Jon hasn't told me much about his time in school; how did you two meet?"

Jon breathes a sigh of relief, slumping against Martin's arm as the conversation continues without him. He really needs to practice talking to normal people again. 

~~~~~

They take the bus back to London. Jon is still leaning on Martin's arm, exhausted by the evening. Martin is staring out the opposite window, eyes distant, a contemplative expression on his face. After a while he untangles his fingers from Jon's (Jon had maintained a grip on him all night, unwilling to face his former classmates alone again) and shakes his shoulder slightly. 

"You awake?"

Jon grunts an affirmative, sitting up slowly. "Barely."

Martin smiles a little, before biting his lip and glancing away. "So... husband, huh?"

The shot of adrenaline that gives him leaves Jon fully awake, and he feels a flush creeping up his cheeks as he ducks his head in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I panicked. I, uh...  _ may  _ have accidentally Beholding-ed Kelly. I needed to shift her attention."

"So you went with 'here's my husband' instead of 'here's my friend'?" Martin raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Jon feels his blush deepen. "Sorry. I just saw you across the room and it was the first thing that came to mind."

Martin's eyebrows are in serious danger of leaving his face entirely. "The first thing that came to mind when you looked at me was 'husband'?"

Oh, this is worse than the small talk. They aren't even officially dating yet, though they both know it's only a matter of time. A few lingering looks here and there, a conscious lack of regard for each other's personal space, that one time in the hallway when they probably  _ would  _ have kissed if Basira hadn't walked in - and now Jon comes out with 'my husband' in the middle of his fucking high school reunion. 

"Yes?" He ventures.

Martin gives him a considering look, nodding to himself. "Okay then." And he sits back, interlacing his fingers with Jon's again. 

Jon waits for him to continue. He doesn't. 

"Okay?"

"Yep. Okay." Martin has a placid smile on his face.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Okay, then." Jon sits back as well, hesitantly returning his head to Martin's shoulder. Martin squeezes his hand.

A few minutes pass.

"Just so we're clear, I'm taking you out on a date tomorrow night."

Jon feels his stomach drop, nerves and excitement hitting him in a nauseating rush. "Okay?" He refuses to call it a squeak.

Martin glances at him out of the corner of his eye, slight uncertainty creeping into his expression. "That  _ is  _ okay, yeah?"

"Yeah." Jon breathes it, still too stunned to speak with any force. "More than okay."

Martin nods, cheeks looking a tad flushed. "Good."

"Good," Jon echoes, and squeezes Martin's hand. They don't talk for the rest of the ride back to London, but they don't need to. They'll have plenty of time tomorrow. 

~~~~~

Tomorrow comes and goes, as days are wont to. A week follows after that, a month hot on its heels, and before Jon knows what's happened a whole year has flown by and he is sitting on a bus on his way back from the Institute, heading home to the small flat he shares with Martin - and when did  _ that  _ happen? January, he knows, they moved in last January, but still,  _ when did that happen? _ \- clutching his bag to his chest and inching his hands back so that the sleeves of his over-large sweater cover them.

He's falling asleep where he sits, tired and fragile from long nights and longer days, the stress of his job wearing down all his carefully-built walls of emotional control and the obscene amounts of caffeine he's consumed over the course of the day causing slight tremors to run through his body. So when the sweet old lady sitting across from him leans forward with a kind smile and says "Is that sweater handmade, dear? It looks lovely," he can feel the hysterical tears rising before he even begins to speak.

"Thank you," he starts, calm enough, and then: "It's... my boyfriend made it. Not for  _ me, _ I had to  _ steal  _ it because he-" and his voice is cracking, he's tearing up, but he can't help it because- "he won't knit anything for me! He's made things for all of our coworkers but not me- this was for  _ Daisy, _ she gave it to me because she said I looked cold and it's too big but I  _ like  _ it and it still smells a bit like him," his breath hitches, "because he smells a bit like wool because he's always knitting and I  _ don't know what I'm doing wrong!  _ He says there's a curse or something but I say-" and Jon sits back, throwing his arms wide, the sleeves of the sweater flapping. The entire bus is looking at him now. He barely notices. "I say my whole  _ life  _ is cursed anyway, what's one more, just  _ throw  _ it on the pile-"

Later, when he is calm, Jon will receive a text from Georgie that just says "You've got to be kidding me." It will be followed by a link to a YouTube video, featuring his entire rant from the perspective of the teenager at the front of the bus who recorded the whole thing. Melanie will be proud of him for becoming a meme. He will frantically try to hide it from Martin, because he doesn't want him to feel bad.

In the moment, though, the old lady changes seats to sit next to him and pat him comfortingly on the back as his disjointed explanations trail off into sobs. Then she quietly explains the sweater curse, and the superstitious nature of knitters, and that it is probably a sign of how much his nice young man cares that he doesn't want to bring that down upon their heads.

By the time they reach Jon's stop he is marginally calm again. He thanks the woman, ignores the stares from the other passengers, and disembarks. He walks the rest of the way home, letting his eyes dry and the tightness work it's way out of his throat. By the time he gets back to the flat, he thinks he's done a pretty good job. Martin will never know something's wrong.

~~~~~

"Hi Jon-  _ what happened? _ Are you alright?"

Oh. Shit. "Yes, I- I'm fine, Martin. Just- tired."

"You look like you've been crying."

"Oh, you know..." Jon clears his throat as he kicks off his shoes, still trying to play it cool. "Stress of the job..."

Martin gives him a searching look. "Is that Daisy's sweater?"

Oh. Once again, shit. "Yeah, she, uh... she lent it to me. I got... cold."

"I told you to wear a jacket."

"Yeah, well..." Jon grimaces, shrugging at his own poor planning skills, and Martin rolls his eyes. But at least he seems to buy it.

"So, did you have any ideas for dinner? I was thinking something simple, maybe cooking up some pasta..."

~~~~~

That evening Martin disappears into the bedroom, warning Jon not to follow him. A few minutes later he comes back out carrying a large, flat box. He looks nervous. Jon frowns at him.

"What's that?"

"It's, ah..." Martin takes a deep breath. "Something I wanted to give you. Come over here?"

Jon stands from the couch, moving to join Martin in the clear space by the door. "And it is...?"

"Uh, something I've been... been working on- thinking about for a while." He corrects himself halfway through, and nervously holds out the box to Jon. "Open it? I'll explain."

Jon raises an eyebrow, but obligingly reaches out to open the box. Martin shifts his grip, holding onto the cardboard base while still allowing Jon to lift the lid away. Inside is a folded piece of dark green fabric, thick and heavy. It looks... wooly. It looks... knitted. Jon reaches for it with trembling fingers.

Something small and silvery tumbles out of a fold in the material as he pulls it free. He barely notices it, because the piece of fabric in his hands is- it's...

"You knit me a sweater!"

"Yeah, Jon." Martin smiles. "But there's also-"

"You knit me a sweater!" He's going to start crying again, he can feel it.

"Yes, but did you see-"

"I love you so much!" He throws his arms around Martin's neck, sobbing into his shoulder.

Martin makes a frustrated sound, pushing him away. "Jon, there's also an engagement ring!"

Jon freezes, face buried in the soft wool of his new sweater.  _ That Martin made him. _ "What?"

Martin crouches down, running his hands over the floor. "It must have fallen, it was- ha!" He stands, one hand raised triumphantly. Clasped between his fingers is a small, silver ring. "Okay, now, Jon-" and he stops. His eyes are fixed on Jon's face, and Jon watches as his expression morphs from a grin into something much more serious, much more fragile and vulnerable. "Jon," he says again, but this time his voice wavers.

"Martin." All Jon can do is look at him, clutching the sweater to his chest.

"Will you..." Martin's voice is breathless, trailing off without a conclusion. Jon can see the emotions in his eyes, overwhelming and building. He understands. That they can have _ this, _ that they even have a  _ chance  _ at this after everything... it's almost incomprehensible. But one of them has to say something. 

"Jon-"

"Yes."

Martin inhales sharply. "Yes?"

"Yes. Yes, Martin-" and he's crying again, stepping forward into Martin's arms and Martin holds him so tight he almost can't tell where he ends and Martin begins.  _ "Yes." _

"Jon," Martin's breath hitches; on the edge of laughter or tears. "I didn't finish the question."

"Don't care," and it is laughter now,  _ and  _ tears. He kisses Martin, passionate and sloppy, both their faces damp. "It's still yes."

"Wait, wait, let me-" Martin pulls back, "I want to do this right." And he grabs Jon's hands. "Jonathan Sims."

"Yes."

"Will you-"

"Yes."

"Shut up, will you-"

"Yes." They're both grinning now, and Jon really should just let him ask the question but he's having too much fun.

_ "Will you marry me?" _ Martin gives him a fierce look, daring him to interrupt again. Jon forces back the laughter, putting in a sincere face.

"Yes, Martin Blackwood, I will marry you. With all my heart."

Martin's face softens, tenderness creeping past the humor and annoyance. "Good." He lifts Jon's left hand, carefully sliding the ring over his finger, and presses a kiss to his knuckles. "Because I want to marry you, too."

~~~~~

Later, they sit curled together on the couch. Jon is leaning against Martin's side, enveloped in his fiance's arms and the soft wool of his new sweater. It is far too large for him: the material hangs loose over his shoulders and the sleeves trail far past his wrists. He loves it.

Martin tugs the left sleeve up enough to expose his hand, lacing their fingers together and turning them so that he can admire the ring. It's a fairly simple band, a few small flowers engraved on the surface but no stones. Jon smiles at it, and at him.

"You picked well."

"You like it?"

"Oh yes." Then he drops Martin's hand, shakes his sleeve down over his wrist again, and uses two wool-covered hands to cup Martin's face and draw it to his own. "Very much." 

Martin laughs into the kiss. "You're having way too much fun with this sweater."

"I can't help it!" Jon burrows back into the fabric like a cocoon. "It's your fault for making it so perfect."

"I spent a while measuring all your favorite jackets and sweaters to get the size right." Martin's hand runs softly through Jon's hair. "I'm glad you like it."

"I just can't believe you knit an entire sweater in secret."

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It was. Believe me, it was." Martin's hand runs though his hair again, and Jon sighs in contentment, leaning closer to his fiance. His heart misses a beat at the thought.  _ His fiance. _ And to think he'd though he'd done something wrong, all because he was impatient for Martin to knit him something.

He feels a flash of guilt. That poor woman on the bus. She had just been trying to be nice, and he had come along and...

That thought leads to another, and he frowns a little. "We're going to have to deal with a lot of people for this, aren't we?"

"Sorry?"

"You know..." Jon counts them off on his fingers. "Caterers, florists, band or DJ, cake artist, whoever officiates, whoever owns the venue... not to mention tailors, I don't exactly have a formal suit hanging around anymore."

"Oh." Martin's arms tighten around Jon; he bites his lip. "That's, uh... I didn't exactly think about that. I mean, it'll be a small thing, we don't have many guests to invite."

"I know." Jon considers for a moment. "But I still want to do it right. And most of that stuff can be done on a smaller scale for a smaller event."

He notes, but elects not to point out, the pleased flush creeping up Martin's cheeks at the idea of 'doing it right.' 

"So, uh, wh- what's the problem, then? I mean, it's not exactly a herculean task to order flowers."

"Martin, a woman on the bus today asked me how my day had been and I broke down in tears from shear exhaustion." A white lie; almost true and harmless. 

"Oh." Martin frowns. Then he pulls Jon in close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I knew something was wrong. Do you want to talk about it?"

Jon smiles at the soft concern in his voice. "No, I... I'm feeling a lot better now. Thank you, though."

"Of course." Martin tilts his head. "Well... we can take turns. You cry at the florist; I'll bawl my eyes out renting a space for it; we can both get together and sob at the bakery while we order the cake."

Jon can't help it; he laughs. "Sounds like a plan. We can team up to weird out the entire wedding-planning industry and get put on all of their 'difficult client' lists."

Martin snorts. 

~~~~~

It's not all that bad, in the end. Yes, Jon accidentally compels the tailor that one time; and yes, Martin does end up banned from that one shop for yelling about how he 'shouldn't have to put up with this bullshit, I've helped save the world - kind of - at some points - you should be thanking  _ me  _ for shopping here' - but they have a strong backup team in Daisy and Basira, and Melanie and Georgie help out as well when they have time.

In the end, the wedding goes off without a hitch (ignoring the twenty minutes when the man dropping off the cake goes on an unintentional rant about his coworker after Jon asks him how his day has been), and all involved agree that it was well worth the trouble it took to pull it off.


End file.
